


Unbearable Horrors

by mattsloved1



Series: The Bear Chronicles [10]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen, Halloween, Horror, Humor, No real bears were harmed in the writing of this story, bear chronicles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-14
Updated: 2014-01-14
Packaged: 2018-01-08 18:05:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1135779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mattsloved1/pseuds/mattsloved1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is something not good happening in 221B Baker Street.  Delayed Halloween fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unbearable Horrors

**Author's Note:**

> I started this piece a week before Halloween and it fought be every step of the way. Finally, yesterday, I was able to finish it. 
> 
> Much thanks to Johnsarmylady and Mapleleafcameo for looking this over for me. 
> 
> I do not own the human characters but have a green Sherlock Bear and grey/blue plaid John Bear who glared at me as I wrote this! :-)

The moment the door to 221B shut, Sherlock Bear scrambled to his feet. John Bear chose to follow at his slower pace. His attention glued to the sight below.

 

London’s consulting detective had been working a case involving a prominent Member of Parliament and a thief smuggling gems. Not his normal cup of tea, he much preferred a good murder; however, his brother had promised a favour in the future and such an opportunity was not one to pass up.

 

Earlier in the day, the gangly genius had shot out of his seat, grabbed his coat and clattered down the stairs while shouting, “Teddy bears, John! Teddy bears!”

 

The good doctor had merely shaken his head and continued to ready himself for his upcoming shift at the surgery.

 

It was another hour before Sherlock Holmes had returned with two large bags full of generic looking teddy bears, Doctor Watson having left only minutes before. Both bears had then looked on as parts of their cousins’ bodies were ripped apart and various sized objects stuffed into them. John Bear had felt a shiver of horror pass through his fluff filled body. He had felt a little troubled when his partner had radiated with a strange sense of interested glee.

 

Once again a lightning bolt of inspiration had taken the detective from the flat at an alarming speed and the slamming of the front door had been the signal for safe movement. 

 

John Bear walked cautiously along the mantle, his eyes glued to the dozen bears lying on the carpeted floor, only three having escaped the tall man and his knife.The rest were piled inches away, their fluffy insides and detached body parts scattered about them.

 

Sherlock Bear moved quickly to jump down into his human counterpart’s chair.  Just before he leaped, John Bear called out sharply. “Wait!”

 

The red bear had to brace himself to prevent any forward motion.  Annoyed, he turned back to look at his blue partner.  “What did you stop me for?”

 

John Bear pointed to the scene below.  “I just saw something move. I’m certain of it.”

 

The detective bear swung his head to the side to see for himself. A few seconds brought nothing to his attention. He was just about to make a snarky remark when he became aware of a slight movement.     

 

A set of paws started to emerge from underneath the coffee table. Very slowly they pulled themselves into the sunlight and were soon followed by a head and tummy. John Bear gasped when a small trail of stuffing followed instead of legs. The bear below looked up at the sound.  There was a vacancy to the black button eyes that alarmed the Doctor Bear above.  Yes, he and Sherlock Bear’s eyes were also made of buttons but there was life that shone through them that was eerily vacant in the ones that now looked his way. 

 

Soon, other bears began to shift from where they had been dropped.  One pulled himself out from beneath human John’s chair. The detective had thrown him in agitation when a cricket ball wouldn’t fit in its left arm. The battered bear carried his amputated limb. John Bear backed away from the mantle edge when another empty look was sent his way.  One by one the maimed bears gravitated to the untouched ones.

 

As they looked at one another, the three bears that had come out of the storm unscathed began to stir. 

 

“Why did they take longer to wake?” mumbled Sherlock Bear. “What is the reason?”

 

John Bear didn’t want to draw any more attention to himself so whispered, “Maybe because they haven’t been handled like we have?”

 

Sherlock Bear threw a look that said ‘ _Really? That’s all you can come up with_?”

 

John Bear decided it was best not to share anymore ideas and simply observed. 

 

A bear with no head came up behind an undamaged bear that had just stood and plunged a pair of abandoned scissors into its back. Sherlock Bear muttered to himself, asking why the lack of head didn’t cause the animal to stagger about aimlessly. All John Bear could do was whimper behind the paws he had raised up, trying to prevent any noise from reaching the group below.

 

Soon, with stuffing pulled out of one leg and a large tear in its right arm, the attacked bear stopped moving.  Any brilliance of life faded away and remained absent when it started to move awkwardly.  It took no time for the two remaining bears to meet the same fate. 

 

Despite John Bear’s ability to remain silent, a mangled bear’s eye noticed the bright blue and red creatures above. It first made eye contact with Sherlock Bear, who stared back unflinchingly, before moving on to the tubby bear that couldn’t stand to look for more than a second.

 

It made an unnatural groan that caught the attention of the rest. Both handmade bears instinctively backed away from the mantle’s edge as they watched a line slowly form beneath them.  Before too long, they were stretched from one end of the fireplace to the other, a small army of twelve lifeless forms.

 

It started with one but soon spread to the others. A phrase was chanted using their distorted and hoarse voices, “One of us, one of us!” 

 

Even Sherlock Bear could not stop a shudder from running down his imaginary spine.

 

“We are not one of you. We could never be like you!” He yelled down in the hopes of being a voice of reason that might get through whatever fluffy brain they had.

 

Despite his attempts to bring sanity to an already mad situation, Sherlock Bear’s words fell on deaf ears. The army below continued their mantra as they moved.  It took no time for the stuffed residents of 221B Baker Street to realise their situation was grave.  The animals below had split themselves into two groups and were working together.  Slowly but surely, they were climbing into the available chairs and moving upward.  With a needle on one side and scissors on the other, their intent was clear.

 

Panicked, they looked to see what could possibly be used for a weapon. Unfortunately, their landlady had removed the skull again only the day before and Doctor Watson had cleared any leftover case paraphernalia before leaving for work.  This meant there was nothing on the wooden slab besides themselves.

 

Sherlock Bear quickly ran six different scenarios through his mind, forced to discount each of them, while John Bear’s eyes moved back and forth as he watched the progress of their would be assailants.  

 

Just as a piece of grey material became visible, Sherlock Bear shouted out, “Yes! Of course!” and grabbed hold of his partner.  Before he could think to ask a question, John Bear found his left arm grabbed and then the sensation of falling through the air filled him. As the descended, John Bear had just enough time to realise his friend’s plan. Once they both hit the floor, he was able to scramble to a standing position and follow the determined creature in front of him. 

 

They were only a few inches from the flat door when John Bear felt something close around his right ankle.  Due to the speed at which he moved, the slightly tubby bear couldn’t stop his forward momentum and the grip holding him did not allow for shaking off.  Combing the two meant John Bear was soon again falling face first to the floor. Whipping his head to the side he saw a dismembered arm whose paw was wrapped tightly around him. John Bear’s button eyes widened as he saw the band of misfits heading his way. 

 

Sherlock Bear had reached the door and realised he was alone. Turning around, he noted the situation and hurried back to his friend. Together they tried to remove the extra appendage and make a run for it. Their delay proved fatal.  Soon they were overtaken and restrained despite their struggling. Unable to see the other, the two could only fight against those who wished them harm. 

 

A knife was brought into view and John Bear felt the edges of his vision start to grey moments later.  The last thing he heard was a scream of ‘No!’ from a voice he knew as well as his own. As everything turned black, the words, ‘the greater good’ started repeating in his mind.

 

“John, John!” A sharp tug on his arm brought the bear out of his daydreams and into the present once more.

 

Shaking his head, the flat was brought back into focus and John Bear was relieved to see the five torn, and three intact, bodies still lying in a pile on the floor below. Batting away the insistent paw, attached to the even more insistent detective bear, he heaved a sigh of relief.  It had just been his imagination. 

 

“Finally! I was about to leave you here.” Sherlock Bear turned to walk towards the edge of the mantle closest to the leather chair.

 

The daydream, or nightmare, still fresh in his mind, John Bear rushed to grab hold of his partner’s coat. In the next moment, footsteps were heard on the stairs and the two bears rushed to their normal positions. 

 

Mrs. Hudson came through the door.  Seeing the tangle of grey in the middle of the room, the older lady started to mutter quietly to herself as she went into the kitchen.  She returned shortly after with a large plastic bag in her hands. As she complained about the mess, each torn bear was tossed into the bag.  Once finished, she tied it tight with a knot, tucked the three intact ones under her arm so Mrs. Turner could have them for her grandchildren and made her way back downstairs. 

 

Once the door closed, Sherlock Bear growled in frustration. Pacing back and forth, he waved his paws dramatically as he mourned the loss of something interesting to do. 

 

Leaning his head back, and stretching out his legs, John Bear smiled. It had been such a relief to see Mrs. Hudson removing the troubling sight below. He didn’t really believe anything bad would have happened. Not truly. Still, it was better they were gone, it was for the greater good.


End file.
